Empty
by Silent-Vociferation
Summary: She was so tired of the feeling that ate away at her. She never despised the hollow state of her body so much as she did when she met his bright gaze, and saw his bright smile, and felt completely unworthy.


This was one of the prompts for Fandom February. I had meant to do the others, but as my friend bestowed upon me Dragon Age, I soon became enraptured and lost my inspiration to finish out the month with my Onmund/Dovakhiin fics. But I know there has to be some Onmund fans out there, so I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

The Dovakhiin is left nameless so that you can pretend she's yours. For the most part. My portrayal of the Dovakhiin tends to have magical preferences.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series.

* * *

She tried not to give him hope anymore. The one time she had, it had been a false alarm, and the way his soul seemed to break in his eyes told her she could never tell him again unless she was absolutely sure.

Of course, she had been almost positive this time. She'd been just about to tell him when she'd looked down to see her loin cloth stained red.

"No…" she whispered, falling against the side of the room with a defeated shudder.

"My Love? Are you home?"

She stiffened at the sound of the door. Onmund was back from the shop. Swallowing hard, she changed back into her armor, the only way for her to play the little normality game. The only outfit that could lie to her, tell her she was fine, that she just had to be patient like she had always been in battle, and one day there would not be blood between her legs.

"Yes!" she shouted in return, and once he'd heard her voice he followed it into their bedroom, sweeping her off the ground and holding her close to him. Most mages weren't capable of doing such a thing, but he was a Nord, which made him more durable and stronger than most.

"Cozy little profit today," he informed her happily, as he always did once he'd found out how much the wording made her giggle. "Your share, Love?"

And then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he let the septims drop down her breast plate and settle in her bindings.

For a moment she grinned back at him, but then that grin melted away and she leaned her head against his broad shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Not today, Onmund." Her voice was low, heavy with the burden of knowing that once again she had failed him. Because by saying 'not today', she was dashing his hopes and suspicions that perhaps… later, it wouldn't just be them in their large home.

At first this seemed to catch him off guard, as it always did, but then his eyes lit up once again, as they always did afterwards, and he pressed her body close to his with a warm, goofy smile plastered on his face. "Then instead, we can do whatever you like. Would you like a meal I made? I'll make sweet rolls this time, too."

Despite being mere inches from his face, she felt as if she was observing him from far away as he rambled through all the different things they could do that she would _love_.

Except, she couldn't do the one thing he would love the most.

So, she would try the second best.

"The only thing I'm hungry for," she interrupted, "is you."

And so began the lip-locked battle for dominance. Well, that was putting it optimistically for Onmund. Usually he lost in a matter of seconds, and that day was no exception. She'd give Onmund a reward tonight, a reward for all the awful things she had shown him when he started following her, the _Dragonborn_, around. A reward for every near death experience and a reward for putting up with how hollow the house sometimes felt when she was gone.

And she hoped he would forget the implications of why they couldn't… well, why his original plans couldn't happen that night.

But in his sleep he murmured all his dreams into her ear, of how he hoped to be better than his father, and she watched him innocently form the words to the wish he had told her about a year ago. He was deep in slumber, so he didn't know what he was saying. After the first false alarm he had only mentioned it a few times, and not at all recently,

It was her fault. There had to be some way to give him what he wanted. Or maybe, in a few months, they would get lucky, and she wouldn't have to worry about it.

"Still empty, sweetheart."

It had been a few months, and Arcadia had made it clear.

No baby.

"What am I going to do?" the Dovakhiin whispered, absolutely horrified.

"Don't all the children in Riften love you? You could adopt from that Orphanage."

"I know… I… I have tried adopting from there before, but all the children are older. Thane of all the holds, a home in each and every one, and two poor children from that horrible orphanage I adopted for each one. I visited and took care of them and played with them but all we ever became was best friends, sisters and brothers. Whatever Housecarl I had… they became the parent figure, and maybe… maybe it was because I was never… there enough…"

Arcadia placed a hand on her knee, looking up into her eyes. "No. No one could have given them a better home than the Dragonborn."

"Maybe that was the problem… because before I was anything to them… I was the Dragonborn."

Arcadia frowned as she glanced out the window, worrying her lip with her teeth thoughtfully. "Aye. That would make a lot of sense."

"This isn't about me," the Dovakhiin confessed in frustration. "I could adopt a younger child, one who doesn't know me from back then. I know Onmund would do wonderful with them and love them like they came from me, but… I can't look into his eyes and give him something that doesn't have his blood. Not after everything he has done for me. Not when every time I look now they are so full of…" She couldn't even describe it, because sometimes she swore it was the purest form of magic, resting in his gaze, enchanting her with his love and adoration and respect and understanding. Feeling tears at the edges of her eyes, she abruptly stood. "I have to go."

Onmund found her endlessly enchanting all the daggers she could stand to make. He wasn't sure where she planned on selling them. The city of Whiterun combined couldn't dream of affording all of the high level enchantments, let alone the daggers, but he said nothing. He kissed the back of her neck, cooked her a meal, and left a note saying he would return. If she was in such a state, it was because she had gone to visit Arcadia.

He just had to ask her what had gone on earlier that day.

Arcadia smiled. "Hold on, child," she whispered, and she was gone. All that the mage could hear was the faint sound of clinking and things sliding across surfaces. "Found it!" Arcadia returned victorious, a small potion with a mythical purple and magenta glow in hand. Hints of gold flashed from within, and Onmund couldn't recall seeing anything like it in his life. "I used to say I led a rather cursed life. My potions exploded in my face and no one purchased from me and I had no real store of my own. Just a ragged cart at the time. And then I made something. It was a pretty color, but with some experimenting I found that was all it was. Pretty. Everyone eyed it but upon finding out it had no use to them, they left it alone."

But then a woman came, a pale figure of beauty and fertility, and she told me that one day I would meet a girl who's beauty was sometimes lost beneath dried blood as people called her monster and fiend. They did not know who she was when she fought. A girl who would one day be cherished by many, but only truly loved by one because of an amulet. 'Not mine' she said, 'though it will help her eventually'. She said this girl will have to fight so much, that she will forget all that love can give her. And when this girl comes, she told me, I was to slip this to her without saying. The woman spoke of a debt she would one day owe the girl, and so this would return the favor."

"Mara…" Onmund whispered. "And _my_ amulet. The one that she returned to me when we first met! Back when I was homesick and… You think this will help her? Because I owe her so much. I know she wants to give me a baby but I… I just want her to be happy. I don't need a baby so long as she's happy."

The alchemist could only press the vial into his palm with a warm smile. "If Mara gave it, I'm sure it will."

Onmund returned to find the meal untouched and the love of his life strewn on the bed, exhausted but incapable of falling asleep.

"I feel awful," she confessed.

"Maybe because you didn't eat," he pointed out, sitting beside her and running a hand through her hair.

"Now why would that be? People don't eat. It's a myth," she insisted stubbornly, drawing a chuckle out of him.

"Of course. Just like dragons. Absolute myth. But they do drink. How about I mix you something?"

"You are too good for me. I couldn't possibly ask you to make me something like some sort of servant… But I would like something with chocolate."

Onmund chuckled again as he stood once more and left to make the drink. On the lower floor, she wouldn't know he had also poured the bright potion into her cup, glad to see it vanished out of sight beneath the chocolate.

Once his love had drained the cup dry, she was motionless for a time, breathing slow and calm, and eventually fell asleep with him not far behind her.

It was a very different story the next morning. Onmund decided to not open the shop that day for fear of blushing scarlet upon seeing _anyone_. Instead, he simply stared at his wife's grinning face in shock and awe, panting. "How did you…"

Her grin grew wolfish in response. "Didn't like it?" she asked, though her tone told him just how much she knew he loved it, so he didn't reward her with a reply. He limped the rest of the day and groaned continuously. Of course, he felt slightly better that she seemed to be stumbling about the house too, but she kept herself far more composed than he did.

Suddenly mornings like that were happening often, and Onmund had to avoid the angry eyes of his customers when he went to open the shop on the rare day she _didn't_ wake him up with a plan to keep him in all day.

It had been four months when he woke up one morning to find she wasn't there at all. "Love?" he called out, but there was no answer. He went to work, opened the shop, but the entire day he couldn't help but be bothered. He was sure he had sold a few things for much less than what they were worth, and there was no way the necklace he had bought off a man was worth half of what he'd paid for it.

He needed to find out what happened to her.

The bell at the door rang, signaling that someone had entered. He ignored them at first, restocking a couple things he had just purchased.

"Do all your customers get treated this way, or is it because I'm your wife?"

He whirled around to face the Dragonborn, who was now leaning against the counter staring at him with mischief written all over her face. "Love?"

"It isn't empty today."

What? What was that supposed to mean? Onmund furrowed his brow at her. "If you're referring to the customers in the store, yes, it actually is." He gestured around the room to make his point.

"It hasn't been empty the past three months."

Now he as even more confused. "Yes, actually, it has. On those days we closed it… _remember_?"

She giggled. "Why do you think I'm talking about the store?"

"Because I'm in the store and you're in the store and- wait." His words became suspicious. "Where have you been all day?"

"Arcadia's."

Suddenly the mage had gone very stiff. "Ar… Arcadia's…?"

"That's the one."

"So… uh…" He wasn't about to get his hopes up. He absolutely wasn't. "_What_ hasn't been empty for… three months?"

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "Whatever part of me holds a baby, I suppose."

At first it caught him off guard, her delivery hadn't exactly been what most women would have gone with, but in a split second he had her gently pressed against his chest, murmuring 'I love you' and 'I can't believe it' and whatever else came to him while his mind was blown away with complete happiness.

Mirabelle. That's what they named her, seven months later, after the former Master Wizard of the College of Winterhold.

They never tried for a baby again. Instead, the two adopted their last two children from Riften, young toddlers abandoned or orphaned through bandit raids.

"Remember when our halls were empty?" Onmund asked after their second daughter scampered off, a lopsided braid in her hair, thanks to her father.

"Aye," she answered, quickly freezing a vase to a table when Mirabelle's wolf familiar almost knocked it over. "You don't wish it was back like that, do you?"

A battle cry came from the second floor, probably their son having located the rat, and the mage cracked a grin. "Never."

"Me neither," she whispered.

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I have now done my part, contributing to the dismal amount of Onmund/Dovakhiin fanfiction. Reviews, critiques, and comments are much appreciated. Thank you very much for reading!

Sivo


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